All characters involved in sexual activities in this story are over 21 years of age.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is just coincidence.
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The Small Sugar Bowl
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It was a cool Friday afternoon when the last of my stuff was carried up to the new apartment that I had shifted into. Not that I had much. Two large suitcases that contained my clothes, and a few cartons of other stuff like cooking utensils, crockery and cutlery, shoes, books, linen, my computer and other things. I was moving in from one fully furnished apartment to another, so there really wasn't any heavy stuff like furniture and appliances to be brought over.
I took a leisurely shower and was stepping out to pick up some groceries when I saw him entering the adjoining flat. He placed a finger of his left hand on the biometric lock and simultaneously pushed open the door with his right.
"Hi, I am Reshmi, your new neighbour," I said. He looked up, smiled and extended his hand.
"Hi, neighbour, welcome to our apartment complex."
I took his hand as I gazed into the loveliest pair of eyes I had ever seen. "Hazel? Or was it more to the green end of the spectrum?" I wondered, as I realised I was still holding his hand.
"Thank you, I moved in a while ago, just stepping out for some groceries."
"There is a supermarket just 100 metres to the left as you step out of the main gate, you should find your stuff there. But should you need anything, just ask, I will be glad to help."
"Thanks, got to run along, see you later," I said as I rushed down the stairs.
When I returned an hour later, I looked at his door. It was firmly closed, and I could not see any lights inside, or rather there was none filtering out from under it. As I walked into my flat, and started making myself some dinner, I started to think about him.
In the short conversation that we had, he had not given me his name. But he wasn't a weirdo, he had been polite and welcoming, and helpful too, pointing out that the store was nearby. The eyes of course were captivating, but there was a gross mismatch. Green eyes on a person with a light brownish complexion, a complexion that pointed to Dravidian genes? Well, I guess genes do have a freaky way of expressing themselves. The voice was clear, though soft and came through as belonging to a mild mannered yet an assertive and confident personality.
"Well, we are neighbours, I will surely get to know him better as we go along," I said to myself.
I am an early riser and I woke up at 5:30, after a rather restless night. It happens to me when I sleep in a new place and I knew it will take a couple of days for me to get used to this new bed in this new apartment. As I placed the water on the gas stove to prepare my morning cup of tea and pulled out the sachet of milk from the fridge, I realised I had forgotten to pick up sugar from the store the previous evening.
So here I was, a sleepless night behind me, no sugar for my morning fix, and now a foul mood. I had three options. One, go to work without the tea, two, tea without sugar or three, borrow some sugar from the neighbour. Though I tend to be wary of men in general, the third option, especially when the neighbour was polite, courteous and had those fascinating green eyes, seemed the best.
I sprayed on some deodorant, and stepped out. I hesitated. It was a Saturday, maybe he would be waking up late? Then I heard his door open. He stepped out to pick up his milk sachets from the 'milk box' just above his biometric sensor. The 'milk box' is a standard fixture in most apartments, where the milk delivery boys drop off the milk sachets early in the mornings without having to wake up the resident. I had one too, except that I had yet to arrange for my supplies.
He heard me approaching and turned towards me. "Hi, good morning, could I borrow some sugar?" I asked.
"Sure, step in, what would you prefer? The usual refined sugar, or sugar cubes or the organic country sugar?"
"You run a grocery store inside or something? Just plain white sugar will be fine." I laughed, as I stepped behind him into his apartment.
"Do sit down, I will fetch it for you," he said and stepped into his kitchen.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was filling up the premises. The apartment was just a mirror image of mine. It was simple and tastefully done, two sets of double seater couches facing each other forming the longer sides, and two single seaters forming the shorter sides of a rectangle. In the middle was a centre table, that had a beautiful miniature Mughal painting printed on it.
I sat down on the single seater, and as a very noisy military helicopter rattled its way over the apartment, causing some of the glass panes to vibrate, I pulled the centre table towards me to examine the painting closely.
He came out of the kitchen smiling, with a small glass bowl of sugar, covered with a plastic cap, sat down on the opposite single seater and placed the bowl on his side of the centre table.
Crash! There was this sound of the glass bowl shattering on impact with the floor.
"Oops! How did that happen?" he yelped.
I jumped up, "I am so sorry, perhaps you didn't notice, I moved the table towards me a bit."
"Sit down please, don't move, you are not wearing your slippers, I heard you removing them when you came in and there will be glass shards everywhere. Just stay put. I am the one wearing slippers here."
He got up and moved gingerly towards the front door and groped around with his foot till he felt my slippers, bent down, picked them up and came towards me.
"Wear them before you get up, I don't want you getting hurt."
Just then, the doorbell tinkled and a couple of seconds later the door opened.
"Saved by the bell," he laughed, "this is Vimala-ji," he introduced the middle aged lady who had entered the house, with the 'ji,' a vernacular suffix of respect that a younger person attaches to the name while referring to an elder. "She takes care of my apartment and me."
Then he started to answer the queries of Vimala-ji, as she fussed over him. "Yes, it was I who dropped the bowl while handing over the sugar to our new neighbour Reshmi... yes, it was totally my fault... no, I have not had my coffee yet... yes, please clean up the mess and in the meanwhile I will make coffee for all of us..."
He turned to me as Vimala busied herself with the cleaning operations. "I am sorry about this, why don't you just stay back and have some coffee here. Or if you prefer tea, I can make some for you, I have teabags, but no loose tea leaves."
I smiled. "Coffee will be fine, can I help you with it?"
"Don't worry, the coffee is ready, I just need to heat the milk a bit and add it to the decoction."
Then he grinned wickedly, "Let me know how many spoons of sugar, I will add it to the cup in the kitchen itself and bring the coffee across."
"I am really sorry about..."
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Let me get the coffee first, then we will talk."
The coffee was excellent and I told him so. Then I started again. "I am sorry I moved the table..."
"Reshmi, hold it, I should have heard you moving the table, it is my fault."